Sorry

It's amazing how an ordinary object can be used as a tool of destruction. She entered the room with a cold sense of purpose. She reached for the sharp spike that she used for clay carvings. Her shirt fell to the floor and angry tears began to cover her cheeks. She carefully placed the tip of the spike on her stomach and began to scratch. The tears fell fast and the scratching continued until the mark was red, raw, and clear as day. Sorry.

Another Nightmare

More and more snow falls. As a child I spent hours buried deep, happy as could be. Now the bars prevent me from going anywhere. I can see the delicate white flakes fall softly through the tiny barred window. I can not feel resentment toward the glittering powder, even as it makes my quarters cold as death. I have spent too many beautiful days of youth being it's friend to be angry.

I am huddled in a corner, my ratty blanket wrapped around my shoulders. Toes peek out through holes in my socks. The fabric covering my knees is thin. I'm shivering from more than the cold, but nobody cares either way.

The horn sounds and the bars holding me in slide away. An armed man steps in front of me. He looks down upon me as if I am am unwanted parasite. He grabs me with a strong hand and pulls me up roughly. I clench my teeth, biting back the cries of the pain he inflicts on me. He pulls my hands in front of me and puts me in chains. I am thrown into a line of other people, men and women alike. They are bigger than me and no question as to their physical strength overpowering my own. I stand hunched over myself, dirty hair hanging down to my malnourished waist. They shove us forward like ranchers shove cattle. I stumble and they beat me. I close my eyes and let the crowd push me forward. I clench my fists and try to hold back tears, but the battle is lost. They see that I am crying and pull me out of the line.

I am shown no compassion. They take the opportunity humiliate me further. A tall strong man stares down at me with contempt and slaps my face, hard. I look up at him, still crying. He is disgusted with me. Full of anger and resentment, I spit in his face. He grabs my face tightly and throws me to the ground. Other guards laugh and the line of people moves faster, afraid of what may happen to them. I begin to pick myself up and I am kicked in the stomach. I am kicked again as I fall to the floor. Again and again, I can't hold it in. I am screaming of innocence, coughing, and sobbing openly. The butt of a rifle is slammed into my back. I cough louder and the floor is splattered with crimson. They take me outside and throw me in the snow as I scream over and over again the facts of my innocence.

The beautiful white snow is ruined by my blood. With all the strength I can muster I shout out, "I killed no one! They are the guilty ones

Black Ice: a short story

Sorry to be posting a short story right after posting the first chapter to a new tale, but I am doing it anyway. I fell asleep a couple of hours ago and had, you guessed it, a nightmare. This one was worthy of short-story-attude. I am also including no dialogue whatsoever. Here it is, I proudly present, Black Ice.

The car pulls up, and the snow begins to fall just like magic. There is something about it that will always be pretty and soft. Each flake is like a falling angel. The sky is only beginning to fade into darkness. The entire scene is picturesque; sun setting in the back, leafless trees laden heavy with crystalline drops, and that car.

Climbing into the passenger seat of that car is always comforting. The seat is wide and soft, plenty of room for my boots to slide to the floor and my feet to tuck up next to my body. The heat is turned all the way up to protect our shivering bones from the chilling wind outside. I tuck into the seat and lean into the window as the car speeds away from what once was.

Trees, snow, ice, lights, and memories rush past in a dizzy blur. My eyes close and a tear falls, unnoticed. Sudden pressure on my hand, not quite unnoticed. Eye contact, and then before anything can be processed, impact. The car swerves in a panic. Control is out of the question as the vehicle spins wildly despite the application of breaks. The spinning finally halts but the terror is not yet over. All that's known is fear, panic, and shear animal instinct when the second impact comes from another uncontrollable car. The sound comes in a deafening, screeching crash. Strong arms wrap around my body and I feel another torso covering my own just moments before the metal folds in on itself. The pain is only present for a moment, then numbness engulfs everything. The heart is immune, and with the last bit of strength I can muster I reach above me to feel my world crash and burn. I blink twice, seeing nothing but red, thinking of nothing but how I was seen as a thing worth risk. My eyes close and do not reopen.

North of Somewhere [1]

My mother is somewhere, somewhere that isn't here. Somewhere has never been here, and I have always been here. Papa says that when he was younger, he prayed for a daughter. He told me that one day the angels decided to fulfill his prayers. Papa says an angle brought me here, that she gave me to him out of the goodness of her heart. He told me how she didn't really want to let me go, how she asked for five more minutes in return for a lifetime. That was the day I was born. I was in her arms for all of five minutes before she was gone. I used to ask where she was and why she never came back for me. Papa always had a hard time answering that. The truth is, he never really knew. After a while I stopped asking about her, because after a while I just stopped caring.

Here, to get specific, is a little house surrounded by big trees up in North Conway. This is where my mother left me the day I was born, and this is where I stayed. I have never wanted to be anywhere else nor have I ever really been anywhere else. I am content where I am, doing what I do. I go to school, to dance class, and home. I would go out, if I had friends to go out with. Sometimes papa takes me shopping, but not too often. He works while I'm at school and dance. He picks me up on his way home and we talk. I don't really know how much normal girls share with their fathers, but I do know that we share more. When all you've got is each other, you don't really leave much out.

Every day after I do my homework, papa sits down and plays the most beautiful piano pieces anyone has ever heard. He doesn't need sheet music or any direction, my papa plays from his heart. Sometimes he watches me dance for him, other times he gets so absorbed in the music that everything else just doesn't seem to exist to him anymore. When that happens, it's my turn to watch him. I want to be able to do that, have something capture my soul so completely that I don't even notice that the world is spinning. Once when I was four I got upset because papa wasn't watching me dance. When I asked him why, he told me I inspired him.

My name is Musetta Hope. It means little muse in french, which is papa's first language. He tells me that I inspire hope, so therefore there was no better name for me.

Papa has always loved me, always given me everything I need and most of what I want. Things weren't always good like they are now though. When I was six, all I wanted was a barbie doll. Not just any barbie, a Disney princess barbie. That was also the year that papa had trouble finding work. When my birthday came around, there was no barbie. Papa tried though, he made me something else. He had taken one of my old dresses and turned it into a stuffed bunny rabbit. It wasn't really well made, and it only barely resembled a bunny, but I think that bunny was better than every single barbie in the world.

The truth is, he tries his best, but sometimes it isn't enough. There was a time when we wouldn't always have dinner. That was the year he planted a garden. We grow pumpkins, potatoes, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and carrots. That helped a lot, but when winter came it took all the vegetables with it. Papa knew we had to eat, so he turned the heat off. We had to wear all our sweaters and blankets, but it was worh it. He ended up cutting down one of the big trees in the woods. We would sit next to the fire every night and he would read to me. Most nights, I fell asleep in his lap.

I was never unhappy, never mad at him for having us live like that. I never knew that things were supposed to be different. Sometimes I do wish it was more than just the two of us. Every girl needs a woman in her life, to teach her how to be a lady. I say that I don't care what happened to my mother, and I really don't, but sometimes, I wish I knew where somewhere was.

Forgetting - Part 16 [final chapter]

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to remember. My childhood? That's long gone. What do you want from me? My life story? That's not even possible anymore. I can only remember little things, unimportant things. I can remember wearing a red hat on the day of my brother's graduation, but nothing else. I can vividly see the shoes I wore to prom but can't remember who I went with. I can remember every word of a note I got from my best friend the day I got to college, but where I went and for what is a dizzy blur. I know I should know these things, but I just don't. What's wrong with me?

Forgetting - Part 15

"Julia? Thank God you're alright!"

"Mom? What the hell?"

"You were hit by a taxi. You don't have any brain trauma so don't try to pull that amnesia crap. Talk to your mother or you'll be going straight to hell." The nurse gives me a stern look and walks away, shouting, "Jesus is watching!"

"Honey, where have you been? Your bank account was cancelled, you haven't talked to me in months. I already lost one daughter, isn't that enough?"

"Please, not you too! I'm still myself! Why can't anyone see that?"

"Are you trying to be funny?" Tears are begining to glisten in my mother's eyes.

"Mom, I'm your only daughter." At this she starts weeping. "What?" I'm defensive now.

"It's like you don't even see what you've done to this family. We needed you Julia. While you were busy doing whatever the hell you want, not even bothering to call your mother, we needed you."

"Mom, I didn't..." But I trail off, unsure of what to say. A moment passes in silence.

"Your father left."

"Daddy? But, no!"

"You missed your brother's wedding. I bet if this little accident hadn't happened, you wouldn't have known about the niece you'll have in a few months."

I pick up the closest thing to me, a flower vase, and throw it at my mother. I miss but I begin to scream. "Stop it! Stop making me feel like I'm nothing! I've felt that way for months and months! I don't have a home, mother. I was ashamed. I didn't think you'd want me."

"Why would you ever think that we would throw you out, not help you when you needed it? That's what family is for. Don't you remember how we were there for Kim?"

I stare at her, a puzzled expression plastered on my face. "Who is Kim?"

"Don't play games with me Julia, it was hard enough to see her in trouble and harder still to loose her. Just, don't. Please."

"I'm not playing games. Who is Kim?"

My mother gets up and walks out the door.

"Who's Kim? Mom?" I shout after her.

In a moment the nurse comes back in and my mother is wiping away more tears. The nurse is shaking her head at me in disaproval.

"Honey, who is your sister and where is she now?"

"I've never had a sister. Right mom?"

She starts crying again and says softly, "I'm loosing another one." She turns away and says louder, "Do it. Put her in the therapy. I don't care. She's gone, just like her twin."

Forgetting - Part 14

Six Months Later

I know I woke up late because the sun is high in the sky. I pack up my stuff quickly and start running. The thing is, the money ran out a few months ago, even after I sold all of my stuff. I am running from a bench in the park to the soup kitchen, hoping that I'm not too late for breakfast.

I didn't tell anyone about my current situation. I haven't spoken to anyone in a long time. My glasses got lost somewhere along the way and I can't see for shit.

"Excuse me, sir?"

All I get is a disgusted look before he turns his back on me.

"Maim?"

"Yes?" She looks mildly appauled.

"What time is it?"

"It's 10:27"

Shit. "Thank you."

I walk slowly to a new spot in the park and sit. The kitchen stops serving at eleven. I can't believe my life. I can't remember anything before I got to college, I burst into tears every time I see a baby or a book store, and I'm living on the street. I bet I could live with that, if there was anyone else to go through it with. Nobody sees me, the people on the streets look through me or around me. I am not important to anyone's life. What is the point of living when there is nobody to live life with?

I leave my things on the bench and start running again. I'm running for no reason, other than to try to escape this person I've become. I can hear the people shouting, finally noticing, but for once I'm the one that doesn't see anything. I feel it though. I feel a sharp stab and then nothing. I am an empty shell.